


My Heart Beats True

by Bennyhatter



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Everyone in the world is a shifter, Guys I'm so unsure about this, I shouldn't be doing this, Just tell me if it sucks please, M/M, Norman and Daryl are twins, Norman is a dork, Rick Grimes is a BAMF, Shane Walsh is an asshole, So yeah, because i seriously cannot keep anyone human it's a problem, fuck yeah, oh yeah I went there, shifter!Daryl, shifter!Rick, shifter!everyone, they're pretty much identical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this world, everyone is a shifter. Canine shifters are the most common, although there are cat shifters - they're just much more rare.</p><p>Or: In which Daryl and Norman are identical twins, basically everyone turns into dogs, and there is love at the end of the world. It just takes wading through a lot of bullshit to get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart Beats True

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS I CAN'T EVEN LIKE WHAT. OH MY GOD.
> 
> This is entirely HigherMagic's fault. I begged her to stop me, but she's a filthy, filthy enabler. So this is going to be updated/written whenever the fuck I get to it, considering I'm working on a literal fuckton of other things right now.
> 
> In the meantime, here. Have some shifter!fic.
> 
> Also to make it easier, I tried to stick in pictures of what everyone looks like. I totally poached them off of Google, so all credit goes to the actual owners/photographers of said photos. So.... here's to hoping it worked?
> 
> I'll post more later. So for now... yeah. *slinks away*

Throughout the entirety of their lives, it’s always been just them. From the moment they could crawl a few feet from their momma’s belly and Merle greeted them with a hard nudge—and Norman howled at him until their daddy woke up and really gave him something to wail about—it’s been Norman and Daryl against the world. They suffered through the bullies at school together, where Daryl was the outcast and Norman joined him in isolation even when others tried to coax him away, and so they both got beaten up for being from a lineage they didn’t get to choose. It was nothing like their daddy could manage, though, so Norman just grinned and laughed with bloody teeth while Daryl snarled and bit with gleaming fangs.

Merle tried his best to protect them when he wasn’t in jail. He took them out and taught them to hunt—threw his hands up in disgust and frustration when Norman was more interested in taking pictures with an old Polaroid instead of learning to track and kill. He’s never been a proper Dixon no matter how many times their daddy tried to beat the eccentricity out of him. Daryl loves him for it regardless, even though Norman started looking for any kind of acceptance in all the wrong ways while Daryl withdrew further into himself until only his brother could reach him.

Their world was one of street mongrels and vicious fighting, where the cops were so used to being called that they’d show up already shifted and growling to drag Will Dixon out of his bottles and away from his cigarettes while he snarled and fought them every step of the way. His wife never pressed charges, even though she’d stopped caring about hiding the bruises long before she went up in flames along with the only home they all knew. The neighborhood kids jeered and threw insults like rocks when Daryl and Norman would slink down the street, their heads and tails lowered and their muscles already twitching—their fur still stained red like rust in some spots where old wounds had yet to heal and new ones still bled.

In a society of shifters, their canine selves speak more about them than words ever could. Their daddy was a pit bull, snarling and vicious and everything they never wanted to be. He brought a bad name to a beautiful breed, and Daryl couldn’t stand to look at him; tried as hard as he could to stay out of his way and still failed more often than not.

Their momma was a beautiful Irish setter, her red fur sleek and her disposition sweet until Will Dixon beat everything good out of her. Norman misses her the most—still has nightmares of the fire that make him twitch and cry in his sleep until Daryl curls up beside him and offers him comfort.

[Merle](https://yooniqimages.blob.core.windows.net/yooniqimages-data-storage-resizedimagefilerepository/List/21326/c0b83817-8611-4e7d-97db-fbbf61eb2060/YooniqImages_213262125.jpg) is a battle-scarred Doberman, big and mean with torn lips twisted into a permanent sneer—not so different from his human form, really. He’s a junkyard dog that someone forgot to chain up, and now he’s out roaming free; looking for bitches to breed and stirring up trouble just for the hell of it.

[Norman](https://www.royal-canin.at/fileadmin/ipd/breeds/896283243/assets/irish_wolfhound_0007.jpg) and [Daryl](http://icd.kmf.de/files/en-ma/country_breeds/793/html/gallery/irish_wolfhound_0013.jpg) are Irish wolfhounds, big and shaggy and nearly as identical in their canine bodies as they are as people. There are only a few subtle differences between them in either form—slight variations in fur color, or the fact that Daryl’s eyes are a little narrower and Norman’s hair is a lot shorter. They’re nearly identical in every other way, even down to the beauty mark on left side of their upper lip.

The only glaring difference between them is the placement of their scars.

Norman likes to fuck with people, and sometimes he would even pretend to be Daryl, back when their hair was the same length. It’s gained him some scars that it hurts Daryl to look at, because he knows they’re the ones that were meant for him when their daddy was deep in one of his drunken rages. They’ve always taken care of each other, though, even at their own expense. Otherwise Daryl hunts and Norman reminds him of the beauty that exists when he feels too beaten down to appreciate anything. He would have let their daddy kill him a long time ago if he didn’t have Norman to remind him why living can be worth it.

Sometimes he still thinks dying would have been better, if Norman went with him. His twin has always found joy in living, though, while Daryl could barely stand just breathing most days. Maybe that’s why it was easier for him to adapt when the virus began to spread and people started losing their minds and chewing on one another. He remembers seeing their neighbor’s wife, her eyes vacant and bloody saliva dripping from her jaws as she tore into her screaming pups; their mailman running from a staggering corpse in a UPS uniform as it snarled and hissed with a mouth that was half gone.

Merle had come from his tweaker dealer’s house and hauled them into the forest, not giving them time to do anything but grab Daryl’s crossbow and Norman’s knives—the only weapons he ever liked to play with. They’d run as far and as fast as they could, leaving behind a civilization gone mad and retreating into the safe embrace of nature, where Daryl and Merle were most comfortable. Norman adjusted slowly because he had no choice—it was either adapt or die, and Merle still got frustrated more often than not when he wasn’t as proficient at gutting or killing. Their brother would rant about how inept he was until Daryl would lose his temper and lunge.

It’s Norman who convinces them to join the group of survivors they stumble across near a quarry outside of Atlanta. Merle wants to rob them, and Daryl isn’t sure if that’s a good idea or a bad one, but Norman insists they give the other shifters a shot, and he can’t say no to his twin when it will make Norman happy, so Daryl follows him. Merle comes with them, annoyed and ready for a fight until he sees some pretty women and decides staying might not be a bad idea.

Merle’s a fucking pig.

The first shifter they meet is a cop named [Shane](http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/images12/BelgianMaliniosIM001948.JPG)—a big malinois with wary, haunted eyes. There’s a pretty dalmatian glued to his side that smells like she used to be mated to someone else, but with the world falling to pieces she’s probably lost him and is looking for the next best thing. Daryl ignores her for the most part. Norman is already romping with a small pack of pups, his tongue hanging from the side of his mouth and his tail wagging so hard his whole body is wiggling as they climb all over him and chew on his ears.

 _You’re fuckin’ ridiculous_ , Daryl huffs at his twin, shaking his massive head and stalking toward the calm waters of the quarry’s lake. Norman responds with a childish laugh and the equivalent of a mental nudge, which never fails to soften his mood.

A pair of Labrador females come to sniff at him, the bigger one yellow and cautious while her chocolate-colored sister wags her tail and plops right down beside him like they’re old friends. She chatters away while he tries not to look as uncomfortable as he feels, so unused to such openness from anyone but his twin. Her sister, whose name is apparently Andrea, finally apologizes and drags her younger sibling—“I’m Amy!”—away to leave him in peace. Which is of course ruined by the arrival of an older Great Pyrenees named Dale, who introduces himself and a quiet newfoundland who goes by T-Dog. He tries to engage Daryl in conversation, but backs off respectfully when he reaches his limits and his lips peel back. That’s around the time that Norman shows up to take the attention off of him, for which he is grateful.

 _Can you at least try, Dar? Please,_ his twin whines once they’re alone. He looks hopeful, his brown eyes wide and doe-sweet amidst his shaggy gray face. Damn him, because Daryl can never fucking say no to him when he looks like that and he knows it. _Try for me?_

 _Just keep that Shane fucker away from me_ , he grumbles, and Norman’s whole body wiggles. It’s ridiculous and adorable and Daryl nips at him to show his displeasure at their situation, but his tail is wagging anyway and Norman knows he isn’t mad at him—could never be angry at him, even if he is a giant dork sometimes.

Norman fits in with the others easily as the days slip by, keeping mostly to his human form and constantly oblivious when it comes to the way some of the women look at him. Even the dalmatian, whose name they learn from Dale is [Lori](http://www.pld.ttu.ee/~kruus/Tessa.JPG), gives him a little once-over before disappearing into the woods with a bucket to collect mushrooms in. Daryl watches as Shane follows barely two minutes later, and if they think they’re being clever and sneaky, they really aren’t.

The only one who doesn’t drive Daryl up the proverbial wall is [Carol](http://d21vu35cjx7sd4.cloudfront.net/dims3/MMAH/crop/0x0%2B0%2B0/resize/645x380/quality/90/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fs3.amazonaws.com%2Fassets.prod.vetstreet.com%2Fda%2Fa44590a0d211e0a2380050568d634f%2Ffile%2FGerman-Shorthair-Pointer-2-645mk062111.jpg), but the sweet, timid pointer is too afraid of her husband to reach out and strike up any kind of conversation past a whispered hello. [Ed](http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/english-bulldog-growling-23728653.jpg) is a fucking train wreck—a bulldog who wanted to be a Rottweiler, no doubt, and he’s got no problem taking out his aggression on his mate and their little pup. Daryl has a go at him when he sees him raise a hand to the young [collie](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JO72d5mFXgo/T7YPTYx9wCI/AAAAAAAACm4/P7wL5TfVqxs/s1600/Collie-Puppy-Picture.JPG) while she cowers and whines, and Merle is the only reason he doesn’t rip the fucker’s throat out. Even Norman is growling and pacing, feeding off of Daryl’s anger and looping his own back through the bond they share until they're wound up and ready to snap.

Shane sends them off to hunt and cool down, but Daryl is too furious to focus. Norman has to track the deer, the crossbow looking awkward in his arms. He knows how to shoot it, but he’s not the best marksman. They deer they find ends up with three bolts in its side as they chase it back towards the camp. They come out of the trees in time to watch a man they’ve never seen before decapitate a walker they were too distracted to notice, and Daryl stares at him for a few startled seconds before seeing the mangled remains of the deer they've apparently just wasted two days following and cursing up a storm.

 _Son of a bitch! That's our deer!_ he snarls, his mental voice loud and rough as he rears up and brings his large paws down on the walker's head as hard as he can, crushing it like a grape and ignoring the blood that splatters against his fur. _Filthy lowlife motherless toxic fucking bastard!_

Damn it, and that deer would have made good meat, too. He only settles when Norman presses a hand between his shoulders, still growling quietly and laying his ears back to show his displeasure. He glances toward the newcomer and gives him a quick once-over to see how he’s reacted to Daryl’s show of aggression.  He’s looking at them without any sign of fear, and the aura radiating from him reflects most of that calm, but there’s something else there that makes Daryl perk up and take notice.

 _Feel that?_ Norman asks, clicking into their private connection so no one else can hear them. _Feel it comin' from him?_

 _Yeah, I feel it._ Daryl eyes the man more closely, taking in his short hair and his clean face. His eyes are as dark as a gathering storm, and there's the potential for a raging hurricane to break free and destroy everything in its path if something kicks it into motion. Otherwise he looks relaxed enough, and the smile he offers them is genuine, if a bit guarded.

“You must be Merle’s brothers. He's an interesting one, that's for sure.”

Daryl snorts. _Ain't gotta be nice. He's a fucking dick._

“Fuck you too, little brother,” the man in question snaps as he comes into view around a cluster of trees. His anger is quick to fade when he sees the line of squirrels hanging from Norman's shoulder, a grin replacing his frown. “Well, well, baby brother. Just look at you. Guess you ain't so worthless after all.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mer,” Norman chuckles as he tosses the squirrels over. “Have fun skinnin' 'em.”

Merle grumbles but goes to do it anyway, leaving them standing and staring at the stranger while he looks them up and down. There's something familiar about his scent, but Daryl can't place it right now.

“I'm [Rick](http://a-z-animals.com/media/animals/images/original/australian_cattle_dog2.jpg) Grimes,” the man offers after a moment that's probably a lot less awkward than it feels to Daryl. “I got here last night. They said you two were off on a hunt. Daryl and Norman, right?”

“Yep.” Norman glances toward him and arches an eyebrow. Daryl stares at him, unimpressed, until his twin rolls his eyes and turns back toward Rick. “Don't mind Daryl, he's just always grumpy. I'm a lot more fun, I promise.” The way he says it, playing at flirtatious as he looks at Rick through his eyelashes, makes Daryl growl and bite at his jeans until his twin laughs. Rick just looks bemused, like he's the butt of a joke he doesn't quite understand.

_Knock it off, Norman. Now ain't the time ta go lookin' for a roll in th’ hay._

_But he's so pretty, Daryl._ Norman whines and pouts at him. _Can I just lick him a little? He looks like he'd be a beast in bed._

_No, damn it. We got bigger shit ta worry about._

Rick clears his throat politely, and they both look over at him simultaneously. “Sorry to interrupt, but we should get back to camp.” He says it like it’s a suggestion, not forcing a decision on them outright while at the same time strongly encouraging them to follow. Daryl bristles with a growl, but Norman pets down his spine until his hackles flatten again.

“Lead the way, sheriff.” His twin waves his hand in a grand gesture that is far more dramatic than it needs to be, and Daryl bites at his calf to get him to knock it the fuck off. “Ow! Damn it, Daryl, that hurt!”

Rick chuckles. “It's funny you say that, considering I am - or was, at least - a sheriff's deputy." He walks ahead of them, and Daryl bares his teeth at the man's back as they follow. The last thing they need is to be stuck in a camp with two cops and a brother who is addicted to cocaine. There is no way this situation can ever end well, especially considering how Merle is.

Sure enough, their older brother is facing off against Shane when they get back, a bloody knife in one hand and a pile of prepared squirrels on the rock beside him.

“Look here, ya filthy pig,” he's growling, and Shane bares his blunt human teeth as his eyes flash dangerously. Rick steps toward them, intent on breaking things up before it escalates, but Norman grabs his arm before he gets more than a few steps.

“Let us,” he murmurs, glancing pointedly at Daryl. Huffing in frustration, he reaches for the human part of himself and shifts quickly. He's glad that at least a pair of baggy shorts and a tank top shift with him, and fuck if he can explain the logistics of it, but it's better than being naked in front of a gaggle of gawking strangers. Rick makes a quiet noise of surprise—probably at the fact that he looks just like Norman aside from his long, shaggy hair—but he ignores him.

“S'nough, Merle,” he grunts, crossing his arms and glaring through the curtain of his wild, tangled bangs. Merle turns to face him, rumbling in displeasure, and Daryl bares his teeth. After years of dealing with Merle and their daddy, he finds it easy to ignore his plays at dominance even if a small part of him still wants to submit. He and Norman aren't alphas, but they're not pushovers either. His twin is a little eccentric, but he's certainly not weak, and Daryl has never let anyone mistake his quietness for subservience. “Said s'nough. Just fix the damn squirrels and quitcher bitchin'.”

“The day I take orders from a pig or an omega is the day I may as well cut off my own balls, little brother.” Merle's eyes are glowing, but Daryl isn't in the mood to deal with his bigoted bullshit today. There's a tense second where they eye one another, the air between them crackling, and Norman is already opening his mouth to try and smooth things out when they lunge at each other.

They collide with a snarl, fur rippling across flesh as they shift and tear into one another with sharp teeth and blunt claws. Maybe Merle is too much like their daddy, and maybe Daryl is becoming too much like Merle, because neither one of them try to hold back this time. Norman is barking in distress, trying to wriggle between them, and when Merle bites at his shoulder savagely enough to draw blood, Norman yelps in pain and Daryl’s vision goes red.

Very few things inspire true violence in him. He's aggressive, and loud, and he's more prone to using his fists than his words, but Daryl’s temper has always been quick to flare and quick to die. He cuts with his tongue, not his teeth—not unless Norman is the one being hurt. When his twin is hurt, Daryl forgets everything but the rage; embraces it like an old, beloved friend and lets everything else go.

Merle knows it, and he's already trying to do damage control, because Daryl has put enough people into hospital beds that it's amazing he was never carted off to jail or thrown in a psychiatric ward. His brother tries to calm him down, tries to get to his scruff to make him forcibly submit, but he's not having it. He lunges again, eyes black and teeth tinged red, and a voice cuts through the roaring in his ears as easily as a knife slides through softened butter.

_Enough!_

The sheer level of command in that shout makes them freeze, blood and foam flecking their sides as they pant and eye one another warily. Surprisingly, Merle is the first one to drop his head and back away, limping off after one last growl to lick his wounds in solitude. Daryl barely feels his own hurts, turning towards Norman to check him over and pausing when he sees a red heeler already nosing and licking at his twin's bleeding shoulder.

It takes him a moment to realize that Rick is the heeler, because he'd thought the man would be a type of shepherd like Shane. Isn't that how it usually goes with cops? Shepherds and mastiffs are generally the ones drawn toward law enforcement and military work. He's never heard of a heeler with a badge, because heelers are a herding breed. They're better at wrangling pups and being teachers or farmhands.

 _Are you okay?_ Rick asks as he licks at Norman's shoulder again. _He got you pretty good._

Norman whines softly, his tail wagging. _Yeah, 'm okay. I’ve had worse_. To Daryl, he whispers, _He's licking me Dar, oh my god he's licking me._

 _Try to contain your excitement a little. Think they can see ya droolin' from space,_ Daryl quips fondly. He's less gentle about shoving Rick out of the way and licking the last of the blood from Norman's torn shoulder. Merle really did get him good, but Norman isn’t lying—they really have had worse. Glancing at the deputy, he pins his floppy ears back and lowers his head. _Was handlin' that just fine,_ he grumbles. _Merle just needs bit sometimes._

 _You were scaring the cubs,_ Rick replies calmly. Daryl glances over to see Carol's daughter huddling against a young blue tick coonhound pup, the two of them looking distraught and uncertain. _That could have been handled a lot better._

 _Yeah, well, fuck you. Know how ta handle m'damn brother. Ain't needed no cop fer that shit b'fore._ He’s being an asshole and he knows it, but Daryl is tired and his wounds hurt and he’s just not in the mood today for anymore bullshit.

 _He's just tryin' t' help, Daryl,_ Norman protests, leaning forward to lick at the scratches on his side because he knows those hurt the worst. _Cut him some slack._

 _Ain't needed no damn alpha ta fawn over, neither,_ he snaps at his brother, and then immediately feels like shit when Norman flinches and whines. Whining back, he licks at his twin's muzzle and nuzzles his apology into his dark, coarse fur. _Sorry, Norm. 'M just tired'n fuckin' stressed. Wish we wasn't here._

_I know, Dar. Just give it another day or two. Please? If it's still too much, then we'll go. Just thought there'd be safety in numbers._

Norman has always been the one more drawn to others. Their upbringing led his brother to be hyper attuned to people, always searching for contact and acceptance even if it didn't come from the best of places. He became forcibly extroverted, whereas Daryl drew deep into himself and drove everyone else but his twin away. He's not good in groups, and most of the time he's not cooperative toward any type of authority figure. Maybe it's because he was let down by so many people in positions of power throughout his life that he just came to accept that no one would care enough to help, least of all an officer of the law.

His brother refuses to think that way, even now, and he strives to see the good in everybody. There's a lightness to Norman that is absent in Daryl, but it's never bothered him to be the shadow to his twin's radiance. They're the perfect balance of the spectrum - the manifestation of yin and yang in flesh and fur.

 _Can do that, I guess,_ he sighs, turning away after one last glance toward Rick. The man has shifted back to his human form and is crouched in front of the pups, calming them and pulling the coonhound closer. Daryl hasn't seen much of the kid, but he remembers that Lori has a son, and he finally connects the scent that was fading from the woman with the rich, musky scent that clings to Rick. That pup must be his [son](http://www.notinthedoghouse.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Bluetick-Coonhound_52469d392b66e.jpg). He must be the mate she'd thought she'd lost, and wow, that's going to make things awkward the next time she tries to sneak away with Shane.

Norman follows him back to their tent, the both of them ignoring Merle's dark lump where he's stretched out in his own tent. They crawl into theirs together and curl into a pile of limbs, and Daryl lets his twin sprawl over him and clean his wounds while he licks at Norman's injured shoulder carefully.

 _You really like that heeler?_ he asks quietly. It's not that he's jealous, because Norman is always falling over himself to follow others and please people. Daryl just isn't sure what to think about Rick, though, because he looks so calm on the surface but has something so much different lurking underneath.

 _Like him better than Shane._ Norman wrinkles his muzzle and sneezes. He can't argue with his twin on that, so he doesn't try to; lays his head down with a sigh and feels exhaustion creeping over him. Norman has to be just as tired, because they barely took the time to rest while they were hunting. When he feels his brother's head drape over his back, he rumbles soothingly and wags his tail at the answering croon.

 _Think we can get away with a quick nap?_ his twin wonders. They listen to the sound of Merle slinking out of his tent and padding away; probably heading back to finish the squirrels.

Daryl yawns widely and closes his eyes. _Let them try to stop us._

Unsurprisingly, no one tries to disturb them—not that they stay awake long enough to see anyone make an attempt. Thankfully there are no nightmares this time; just dreams of freedom and fields and the sweet smell of nature that filters into their subconscious from their surroundings.

It’s probably the most peaceful sleep they’ve had in a long time.


End file.
